When I thought I was in the final year of my dad's life, I did not realize I was in the final year of my marriage.

I have been quiet for a while now. It's been hard to put into words how the last ten years have somehow crept up on me and my feelings. There is much to unpack, so this is just a fair warning.

No one ever said to me I would be doing life alone at the age of 46. When I met my husband at age 20, I thought we would spend a very long time together even though he was 20 years older than me.  I am thankful we did have 26 years of friendship and marriage together. I must admit that sometimes, because of my lack of desire to do something, I remind myself how much I did in those 26 years.

I had experienced a volatile neighbor who had moved into my childhood neighborhood and started harassing my family and me. It started subtly with requests to move our lights because they shed some light at night on his totally dark property.

I was eating brunch this past weekend, and who should walk in but one of the WORST brokers I ever worked with, and for~ I immediately felt sick.

Until that moment at Sunday brunch, I had tried entirely to forget about this old broker/boss. But WHOA, the flashbacks and memories of working for a very unpleasant person came over me like a wave. As soon as I saw him, I could not push past the memories of a time I had tried to suppress.

This week, the final domino fell for us, having lost our beloved black lab Oliver. I called him Braveheart because he was just that for me. He lived almost 15 years and was picked out and brought home by Carl. I recall Adyn calling me at work and saying, “Dad brought home a puppy,” and me responding with “wrong number” and hung up. (sigh)

Some of my best childhood memories are those spent with my Godparents. I recall so many weekends being at my godparent's home watching our parents play scrabble until 2 am.

This moment.

Maybe it has taken me 7 years to get to this moment, to realize that what I am doing is for this very moment – this snapshot in time.

On my first Mother’s Day with Carl, I remember him telling me ~ “Am I supposed to do something for you? You are not my mom.” (Can you picture me? Or my face?)

The first memory I have of my sister was of us, going to piano lessons together and when we were done, she would leave minutes before me, my heart panicking, racing as I ran after her running down the street to catch up to her only for her to stop long enough to let me catch up so our mother could see us...walking together home.

It was always like that, when we were young, she was the middle child and I the youngest. She could paint, was a student leader of her class and always knew how to smooth out any situation. As the years went by and I was 16 and pregnant, my sister drove like mad from Kingsville to meet her first nephew and the apple of her eye, Nathan. She would be the BEST aunt ever!

As my daughter and I excitedly set out to Houston for meetings, at the back of our minds was the lingering thought of a delicate pick-up from a funeral home in Katy, Texas. We encountered pounding rain driving into the city; the rain feeling somewhat symbolic- like tears, a heavy release pouring down.